Conspiracies
It wasn't fair.
Miles got to be spoken to seriously and Gregor was always practically fawned over. And neither were ever cornered like this.
No, only he had to deal with the cheek pinching distant aunts and would-be aunts and batty old women, each insisting on calling him "the cutest little thing ever" with those horribly nasal and high pitch squeaks at the end of each sentence. And the pinching! Claws, digging into his cheeks. He'd be marked for life at this rate!
Holding very still behind the potted plant, eight year old Ivan held his breath, screwing his eyes tightly shut in the hopes the latest in a line of deranged old relatives wouldn't spot him.
Shadows crosses over his eyelids and instantly curious, Ivan let his eyes pop open, peering through the leaves. A dress of deep brown, edged with silver highlights which glinted even in the shadows greeted his sight – blocking him entirely from the view of the bevy of scary battalions looking for him. Saved! He was saved!
Looking up further, he realized blue eyes were peering down at him in amusement, bright red hair gleaming in the light, and his elation soon turned to despair. Apparently, doomed would be the more appropriate sentiment after all. Heaving a sigh, Ivan prepared himself to leave his hard earned hiding place, to swim with the sharks.
"You know. If we do this right, I bet we can get you to the main doors unseen, with you conveniently... walking between myself and the wall the entire time?"
A large, tooth gaped smile greeted the offer, followed by a twinkle in Ivan's eyes which had everything to do with the knowledge that sometimes, being cute and sad looking could so very much save one's bacon.
Saved!